The Remains of the Day
by Wuff
Summary: The flames dance and crackle merrily and remind him just a bit too much of Gellert. Gellert’s carefreeness -- Gellert’s ruthlessness, Albus corrects himself, staring into the fire until little specks of light hover in front of his eyes.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** The main characters of this story are Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald (who, sadly, still isn't on the character list). Aberforth also makes a brief appearance. It started out as a drabble and then it got too long, I suddenly had two different stories with different writing styles and all. I hope there's still a connection between the two chapters (and besides, where would I post the second chapter that is almost only about Gellert?)

**Warning:** Deathly Hallows spoilers - if that is still considered a warning.

**Disclaimers:** I don't own anything, I don't intend to make money with this, etc.

Suggestions and criticism are very welcome.

* * *

**Part One**

Albus keeps every single letter Gellert sends him. He hides them in the bottom drawer under two thick ancient runes dictionaries so that Aberforth will not discover them coincidentally. Sometimes, while waiting for new letters, he takes an old one out and rereads it, smiling to himself at Gellert's big and scrawly writing. Some sentences end halfway, words are crossed out, others are abbreviated. It is not because Gellert is an impatient person but because he thinks faster than he can write. It never ceases to amaze Albus how thoughts just seem to spill out of Gellert. One moment he is talking about a fairy tale, next moment he is making up rules for a new world order, then he suddenly throws in that he likes Albus' hair colour.

Albus has cast a permanent protection shield over the letters because he fears that Ariana might accidentally burn them in one of her fits. After losing his father and mother, he cannot even bear to think of losing something again.

Sometimes, when Gellert is so full of ideas that he cannot find the calmness to write them down, there is suddenly a _whoosh_ and then there is Gellert, hovering on his broomstick in front of Albus' window. Albus always leaves the window open. Just in case. Besides, it is a very warm summer.

Then Albus helps Gellert inside and before Albus can even invite him to sit down, Gellert starts talking in a rushed half-whisper. Albus listens, enraptured by the net of words that Gellert is spinning around him, until he finds new connections, surreal images, but as long as Gellert is there, everything is possible. And just as suddenly as he emerges, Gellert will disappear into the night again.

But Albus still has his letters that are hidden in the bottom drawer and make everything real.

Whereas he used to fear that everything was just a dream, nowadays he wishes it would have been really nothing but a dream.

He wants to get rid of the evidence, the painful reminders of his guilt and shame and insanity but he is afraid that Aberforth might see him, might see the proof.

Albus has to wait until, several months later, Aberforth has left for a whole day to negotiate with a goatherd. Without even the shortest glance into any of the letters, Albus removes the protection shield, gathers the letters, walks down the stairs of the silent house and ignites a fire in the barely used fireplace. One by one, he throws the letters into the flames, and with each letter something inside of Albus leaves, too. It is not the guilt, no, he knows that the guilt will never leave him.

The flames dance and crackle merrily and remind him just a bit too much of Gellert. Gellert's carefreeness -- Gellert's ruthlessness, Albus corrects himself, staring into the fire until little specks of light hover in front of his eyes. With the last dying flames, the ghost of Gellert's smile dies down, too, and there are only ashes left.

Back in his room, Albus tries to read one of Bathilda's drafts on the Third Scottish Goblin Revolution. It is dull and therefore safe to read. Under the two thick ancient runes dictionaries lie now hidden several photographs of Ariana so that Albus will not unexpectedly look at them. He has not grown used yet to the sudden pain that comes every time he is faced with something that reminds him of Ariana.

There is a harsh knock on his door. Without waiting for an invitation, Aberforth opens the door. He remains standing in the threshold, however.

"What happened?" he asks. There is the slight undertone of accusation that is always in Aberforth's voice nowadays when he speaks to Albus. "It smells burnt."

Of course Aberforth will notice the smell of something burnt. He was always the one most sensitive and observant of Ariana and would notice immediately when she had had another outburst.

"The stew burnt," Albus replies curtly. "I forgot to stir it because I was reading." He lifts the paper. "Bathilda asked me to --"

"Yeah, right," Aberforth sneers. "It's fine if our house burns down as long as you and those other know-it-alls have your smart talks. What is it this time? The Seventh And A Half Goblin War In Andorra?"

Sadly, Albus has no counter arguments to that. With another derisive snort, Aberforth leaves the room and slams the door shut behind him. The draught causes a few of the parchments on Albus' desk to fly down. Albus stands up to gaze out of the window once more. Then he closes the window firmly. It is rather cold outside. Besides, the harsh and clear winter air does not smell nearly as nicely as the heavy summer night's air.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

Why would a young man choose to work as a guard in prison? And not just any prison but _Nurmengard_. Benjamin Fichte is asked that quite often. So why does he work here? No particular reason other than that his mother worked here, too, and so it was easy for him to get the job. You have to take every job you can get today, with the high unemployment rate and all …

So how come his mother worked here? She saw it as her duty to make sure that Grindelwald and his high rank officers and ministers stayed in prison. Her parents had been killed by the regime. Benjamin Fichte does not even remember his grandparents. He was born only slightly before Albus Dumbledore ended the reign of terror. Benjamin's children will play with children whose grandparents were Grindelwald supporters. What happened decades ago is the past now. Only the old generation still hold grudges and occasionally build memorials and make speeches in memory of the victims. Others still think that Grindelwald was right – but would never dare to say so openly.

In Nurmengard, the past is not over. At first, it was rather disconcerting to see some of Grindelwald's ministers and officers face to face. They looked much older than the pictures of their younger selves in children's history textbooks nowadays. It was actually a shock that they were still _alive_.

Nothing, however, compared to the odd feeling the day when Benjamin entered the high-security wing for the first time. His elderly mother led him around. She had warned him that many prisoners were not a pretty sight and had gone mad during all the years incarcerated here. She said that Grindelwald was worst of all but "that's to be expected, he's always been a madman."

There was Fridolin Wieland, former finance minister. Benjamin 'remembered' him as fat and always well-clad from the pictures. Now his robe hung loosely around his emaciated frame. Thickly scabbed wounds ran over his wrists.

"Tried to kill himself several times," Benjamin's mother explained. "We don't give him knives for his meals anymore." She snorted uncaringly. "Wish he had succeeded …"

The next one was Isabel Winter, former minister of propaganda. Although it was night and most prisoners were asleep, she glared at them unblinkingly, following their every move with her dark eyes.

"Be careful with her," Benjamin's mother whispered once they had passed her cell. "She's still trying to escape."

The cells were unusually small and there was nothing inside but a hard cot. Each one had one small window with spell-safe bars. Benjamin would have almost felt sorry for the prisoners if he had not known what crimes against humanity they had committed. Finally they reached the topmost tower. And now the experience was to become even more surreal.

It was nothing like Benjamin had expected. His first impression upon throwing a glance into the cell that harboured Nurmengard's most notorious prisoner, was that it was not nearly as empty as the other cells. In fact, it looked rather like a huge paper bin. For a moment, he wondered if the prison guards threw all the litter in here. It would be fitting, yes … until he realised that there was a certain structure in the 'litter'. It were newspaper clippings, covering all four walls and parts of the floor. Benjamin directed the light of his wand on one of the cuttings. A face that seemed vaguely familiar was looking back at him. He let the beam of light wander over the other newspaper clippings to find that most of them showed the picture of the same man. And then it hit him: It was Albus Dumbledore who was staring back at him from hundreds of newspaper, old and new ones. On some pictures he had still auburn hair, that was why Benjamin had not recognised him at once. But then it felt like he was travelling in time when with each picture Dumbledore's hair became a bit whiter and his beard a bit longer.

Benjamin turned to his mother and whispered, "Has he done that himself?"

"He's plotting revenge," she whispered back. "He's been tracking Dumbledore ever since his imprisonment. Wants to know his whereabouts and studies his every move."

A breeze of wind drifted through the bars and the paper clippings wavered and gave a soft rustle. Benjamin shivered at the eerie picture. This went beyond madness. It was an obsession.

Finally, his gaze came to rest on the figure that lay in the middle of the room, huddled under a threadbare blanket. Grindelwald. So this was he. The Dark Lord, dictator, mass murderer. _This is the man who started it all? One man who is responsible for so much suffering?_ He did not look like it. The shape of protruding bones under the thin blanket was clearly visible. His gaunt features looked relaxed in sleep. Just the idea that a Dark Lord would sleep, maybe snore a bit, dream … It made him human – which made everything only more frightening. _How cruel a human can be_, Benjamin thought, having problems reconciling this pitiful, old, insane man with the feared Dark Lord.

But, working in Nurmengard, you grew used to even the most bizarre things. Soon, it became perfectly natural that the first one who wished Benjamin a 'good morning' everyday was a Dark Lord. Once a week filling in the little hole that Isabel Winter had dug with a spoon in another attempt to escape, became routine as well. At one point, Benjamin did not flinch anymore whenever a follower of Grindelwald, who was convinced that they were still in power, recounted proudly how he and his friends had tortured a Muggle supporter.

Other people – 'normal' people –, however, flinched away from him when he said that Grindelwald was a rather uncomplicated prisoner as long as he got Benjamin's old newspapers once a week. It did not fit into the picture of the Dark Lord. Benjamin even stopped fearing him.

One morning, when Benjamin was delivering breakfast to the prisoners, Grindelwald told him unexpectedly, "I want to write a letter."

"Uh." Benjamin put the box with bread down and scratched his chin. "Uh," he said again. Grindelwald's sunken eyes stared at him fixedly, never leaving his face. "Actually, I don't know if prisoners from the high-security wing are allowed to communicate with the world outside. I'll check in the prison rules."

Grindelwald nodded curtly.

The rules of Nurmengard stated nowhere that any prisoner was forbidden to send letters. The only condition was that the letters were checked by the prison guards for dark spells or messages for a rebellion before being sent away. He brought Grindelwald ink and parchment the next day. The dark wizard thanked him and, the following morning, he handed Benjamin the letter and asked him to send it to Albus Dumbledore.

"Alright," Benjamin said warily, expecting the letter in his hand to poison him any moment.

"Do you think what I did was wrong?" Grindelwald asked abruptly.

"What, writing a letter?" Benjamin replied, puzzled.

"Everything."

Benjamin remained silent for a moment. He could hardly say, _Well, if you take into consideration that … on the whole … not everything …_ So he said just, "Yes."

Grindelwald looked contemplative. "It could have worked. If people hadn't stood against me, hadn't forced me to destroy them … It could have worked."

"Still no justification for mass murder," Benjamin said quietly, looking at the roll of parchment in his hand and wondering what, in the name of Merlin, Grindelwald had to say to the man who had defeated and imprisoned him.

"I must admit, I probably carried things too far," Grindelwald said thoughtfully. "Maybe I should have been more subtle."

Benjamin made a noncommittal sound and went to examine the letter. It was not what he had expected. No menaces of revenge, no insults, no death threats. All of Nurmengard's guards checked the letter, they even asked an Auror, an expert in decrypted messages and a curse breaker for advice but no one discovered anything dangerous in the letter. It read:

_Albus –_

_Congratulations to your appointment as Headmaster (although I expect it to be a rather dull job). I invite you to a game of chess. The guards here are rather dim-witted and I long for an intellectually satisfying conversation. You owe me that much. We both know that you beat me unfairly. Send me a note telling me when you will come. _

_I hope your brother is well and that the goat incident has not been too much trouble. _

_Gellert_

In the end, everyone concluded that Grindelwald really was quite unstable. They sent the letter and Benjamin attached a note:

_Dear Mr. Dumbledore,_

_I am sorry to bother you with this but Grindelwald insisted on writing to you and there are no rules which prevent prisoners from writing letters. We cannot make an exception with Grindelwald as that would lead to arbitrariness just like under Grindelwald's rule. _

_We are not sure as to what his motives are. He is still plotting revenge against you but sometimes it almost seems like he is showing a little remorse for his actions. _

_Yours sincerely,_

_Benjamin Fichte_

From then onwards, Grindelwald asked every day if a letter had arrived for him, reminding Benjamin disturbingly of a child waiting for Christmas. After twenty-two days with the answer 'No', something happened that made Benjamin clearly aware that he was not dealing with a senile old man but with a still dangerous dark wizard.

He came to Grindelwald's cell to deliver breakfast like every morning when he sensed that something was missing. It did not take him long to figure out that the hundreds of pairs of piercing blue eyes on the wall that normally observed his every move had gone. Well, not exactly _gone_. With deeming horror, he realised that Grindelwald had stabbed every single eye with a fork. The fork still rested in the last picture Grindelwald had mutilated.

With shaking hands, Benjamin levitated the breakfast for Grindelwald through the bars and left the tower as quickly as possible without a 'good morning'.

Two years later, Grindelwald asked him if he would be so kind to cast a _Reparo_ on the damaged newspaper clippings.

Several years later, Grindelwald asked if they would let him out of prison so he could help to fight "this dark wizard who doesn't have a name". Benjamin politely pointed out to him that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had died a few years ago. Grindelwald asked if he did not read the newspaper and indicated one of his newest clippings: _Dumbledore demoted from Wizengamot._

About two years later, Benjamin brought him the newspapers carrying the news of Albus Dumbledore's death. It still seemed unreal that Dumbledore, the living legend whom they all owed so much, could be dead. It did not seem right that Albus Dumbledore should die and Grindelwald should be still alive. It just wasn't right.

"There, I hope you are happy now," Benjamin said bitterly and threw the newspapers into the cell. "You can stop planning your revenge now. Someone else already did the job for you."

This night, Benjamin was called to Nurmengard unexpectedly. People had seen strange things happening. They said it looked like there was snow falling from the topmost tower.

It was in the middle of the summer.

Benjamin, along with every other guard from Nurmengard and several Aurors, stormed up the topmost tower and hurried straight to Grindelwald's cell, their wands at the ready. The sight that met them, though, did not speak of danger at all. It rather looked like a scene from a strange dream.

In front of the bars, the black and thin scheme of Grindelwald was visible against the night sky. One by one, he was slowly throwing the paper clippings out of the window where the warm summer night's wind gently took them and carried them away.


End file.
